


Two for Tragedy

by parxsisburnixg



Category: Dracula (Movies - Hammer), Original Work, Scars of Dracula
Genre: 1880s, 19th Century, Abduction, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Bittersweet, Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Blood and Violence, Bonding, Branding, Bruises, Burning, Character Turned Into Vampire, Churches & Cathedrals, Comfort/Angst, Cutlass Swords, Dismemberment, Dreams, Dungeons, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, First Kiss, Folklore, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Gothic, Hammer Horror Universe, Hunters & Hunting, Hypnotism, Inspired by Music, Interspecies Romance, Loss of Faith, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Master & Servant, Medieval Medicine, Menstruation, Neck Kissing, Night Terrors, Older Man/Younger Woman, Passion, Past Torture, Physical Abuse, Portraits, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Romantic Angst, S&M, Sadism, Scarification, Seduction, Sexual Content, Soul Bond, Stakes, Starvation, Superstition, Tragic Romance, Transylvania, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vampire Turning, Vampirism, Wrongful Imprisonment, coffins, crosses, medieval weapons, thigh biting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parxsisburnixg/pseuds/parxsisburnixg
Summary: During his imprisonment as Dracula's slave, Klove has been coerced into committing foul deeds for his master. He abducts women, brings them to the keep, and then disposes of them once the Count takes his pleasure of blood. However, during one such abduction, he comes across a young woman who is stronger than she appears. To the Count, she is unyielding, defiant. To refuse the vampire himself is to bear a death wish. This is an alternative to fix Klove's loneliness and to give him somewhat of a love story. Set before the events of the film, somewhere in the late 1870s. 18+
Relationships: Klove/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue- A Wanderer in the Outer Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Because my darling Hannah and I cannot get enough of Patrick Troughton, this is dedicated to her. She and I have bonded quite wonderfully over the course of nearly two months, and yet it feels like we've known each other forever. She's my sister, my love, my Botticelli angel, and of course I'm going to spoil her with all these works.
> 
> This is an alternate version of events before, during the film? I dunno yet, but this main character, Evangeline, is one of my own creation and is basically myself and my friend combined. Why? Because goddamn it, Klove needs some love! (That and this is for the mere fact that even though he's been gone for nearly 34 years, Patrick is still irresistible and timeless. We hope you are resting peacefully, sweet darling.)
> 
> I do not own the plotline of "Scars of Dracula," nor do I own the characters save for Evangeline and other humans of my own creation; everything rightfully belongs to Hammer Studios and of course, Bram Stoker himself. I got the title for the fanfic from the song "Two for Tragedy" by Nightwish.

_The white chiffon moved betwixt her thighs and as she breathed deeply, her bosom heaved as her eyes filled with soft tears. Her hands slid over her breasts and down her abdomen with slow carefulness. Her eyes, veiled in their hazel-green hues, looked towards the window. His silhouette stood tall and dark against the glass. The clasp of the lock clicked, and with the handle descending down without any aid of a human hand, the doors swept open and he seemed to glide inside without a fault in his step._

_With the tears falling from the corners of her eyes, she saw his features more clearly as he approached. His hair was slicked back, dark with sleek grey strands, his nose aquiline and lips thin. His eyes though, muddled in their red hues around his dark irises, seemed to stare at her deeply. His towering figure began to loom over the side of her bed as he crept closer. Her breath stilled in her throat and the blood raced towards her folds. Her nipples grew erect against the fabric of her chiffon dress, and with her thighs gently exposed, the man leaned down to linger at her skin. He bore no living breath and his touch was cold. The sharpness of his fingernails gently swept the fabric up towards her abdomen as he moved it aside. The faintest growl left his lips. Her thighs trembled, and as she began to quiver, the scent of her blood became more potent._

_The fear gave it a voluptuous scent. To him, it was intoxicating— his glazed eyes closed as he inhaled. Leaning down once more, his lips brushed her skin. The film was stark warm to him, as hot as the cutlass sword he used to burn his servant with. His tongue, a wet, foul organ, began to slide across her inner thigh. Her wide hips trembled, but then as he subdued her, biting over her femoral artery, she arched her back and could not cry out. Hungrily, he supped from her as she rasped in silence. Her throat tensed, but her jugular vein pulsated as he fed from her. Once he finished drinking from her, he removed his mouth and stared with a sensual gaze, as if he were becoming somnolent from looking at her._

_"Please," she finally wept. "Please do not hurt me further. Let me go."_

_But he did not utter an audible reply. He pulled his lips back and began to pin her down. His cold hands clasped her wrists and she could not move; she tried to shuffle her weight, to loosen his grip, but she could not. With fresh tears falling continously from her eyes, he managed to keep her still. He rose one of his own wrists to his mouth, and there he bit down hard; blood flowed from his veins and fell, drop by drop, onto her full, shapely mouth. The blood seeped past the crevices of her soft lips and lingered on her tongue, trailing down the buds and into her throat._

_"No, no!" she cried. "Please, no!"_

_Evangeline's hazel eyes rolled back beneath her lids. Her dark brows pulled upward as she thrashed. The Count kept her pinned, and without the sight of a cross anywhere upon her person, he lingered as long as he desired. Once the burning of his blood in her veins consumed her, her body was no longer her own. She felt possessed, condemned. She felt pursued by the heat of his immortality in her veins. Her tongue grazed her lips, and she could taste his essence. The inner skin of her lip was scraped against the white of her teeth, and she discovered they were sharper now than they ever had been. The Count stood up and backed away from her. As she finished her transformation, he reached out towards her with both arms. She did not want to look at him any further, but she could not resist. His hypnosis was powerful. She removed herself from her bed and slowly trekked herself into his arms. She slowly shook her head in regret, in despair, and as he finally felt her small figure against his chest, the inner linings of his cape flowed around their figures and embraced them. The two of them, now master and fledgling, faded into the dark of night._

_"And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for awhile; and shall later on be my companion and my helper. You shall be avenged in turn; for not one of them but shall minister to your needs. You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call."_


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The main character suffers from menorrhagia. It's basically an excess shedding of blood during a menstrual cycle, and I thought to myself, "This would be both an interesting way for her scent to be captured by the bats." I also have this headcanon that while Dracula can control the bat, they hone in on the scent of blood and have a strong connection to him, thus allowing the Count to pinpoint where his victims are. I thought it'd be interesting to put into the story. 
> 
> Also, mentions of abuse from her stepfather are present as well. I wrote her as a victim of domestic violence, so that she may have something in common with Klove. It's all for the story, and please know that I absolutely, positively do NOT endorse violence in any way shape or form. Also, there’s mention of skinned rabbits for the midwife’s supper. It’s not too graphic, but just putting it out there.
> 
> More to come!

As she lay in her bed with her long hair sprawled out over the pillow, she felt her eyes roam behind her lids as she dreamt. As she clutched onto a spare pillow, her long willowy arms enclosed it as if she were a child clutching to its toy. She had not slept peacefully for a long while, and now with the change in the weather coming, she felt the cold sweep against her. Her black lashes felt the faint yet gentle breeze, and she heard the sound of a rodent in her ears. It was not that of a mouse's echo, but that of a bat's cry. The cross she wore on the small chain round her throat slid against her breast. The veins in her breasts quickened, and with the small structures appearing blue against the film of her skin, her blood raced. She could feel that something was about to change. She could feel it in the air as the clouds roamed in over the mountaintop. She knew what lingered at the pass, and she had often looked at it, ever since she was a child. Her bosom heaved and her lungs tightened. The folds between her legs grew soft and warm, and her canal grew slick with iron. Her red flower had come, and the sharpest of pains, comparable to that of a stabbing sensation, consumed her inner lining as she lay there. Sweat came over her in a thin sheen and she could hear the bat growing closer. Its sound resonated loudly in her ear, as if it were in the room. The only thing that awoke her from her sleep was the sound of a man's voice.

"Evangeline, you were not at prayer again. Why?"

She lay in her bed completely reclined once more, feeling ill as the cold of the autumn air came through her window. The glass had been cracked, and yet she made no effort to conceal it; the curtains swayed in their soft form and blew as if they were the train of a gown. Night had come, and yet she felt it was a draining day. She turned her head to the side and looked past the burning candle that sat on her nightstand. Her stepfather stood in her doorway with his brows furrowed. He held his belt in hand and stared across the vast emptiness of her room. She sat up slowly, weakly in bed, and she shook her head as tears formed in her eyes. He stepped inside and she recoiled. Her small stature seemed so frail, and the pale white of her skin was rather aglow with fear. She rose a hand in front of her as an attempt to block his feeble gaze.

"Father, please," she murmured. "It was not for mere child's play. My flower has come. It feels as though a pitchfork is in my womb, and I cannot find any comfort as it lingers. I did not mean to miss the church service. Please, do not hurt me."

The flame of the candle flickered as the winds progressed, and outside their house, just over the slopes of the mountainside, the rumble of thunder came and brief streaks of lightning shone brightly. She clasped her other hand around the small cross she wore, and as her stepfather stepped closer, the disdain in his eyes grew dark, yet dull. As she recoiled into the corner, the lightning flashed again, this time a brighter shade of purple as it rippled across the skies. Their parish had come under wild storms of late, and yet none knew why it seemed inheritantly dark over the landscape. All of the villagers had congregated on the holy day, and yet as they all whispered their prayers, none could understand why their homeland seemed bleak. With a stronger gust picking up its pace, the window of her bedroom blew open. She raced towards it in a single stride, and she closed it tightly. She locked it in a secure manner, and the scent of garlic bulbs lingered still. In her stepfather's superstitious ways, he had laced the windowsill with garlic. For where they lived, the age-old tales of the local folklore remained strong as ever. She gently closed the curtains and looked over her shoulder towards her stepfather. 

He stood taller than her by a foot and two inches, and he appeared strong and mean-spirited by natural default. His brooding eyes kept a watch over her, especially as he left the room. He deduced she was not lying as he spied small droplets of red soaked through the back of her nightdress. She was embarrassed, as had placed a cloth beneath her to help catch the blood; it was no use, for she bled quite heavily. The door to her room closed, but not before he left her with a final word. His tone was devoid of pity.

"Find a way to stop the bleed then. Should it fall again on a Sunday and persuade you otherwise to attend, I will take the belt to you. Even if you do bleed, let it be in the Lord's presence. He is the one you owe your sancity to. Do you understand?"

She nodded once without a vocal reply. She kept her eyes down and her arms around herself, as if she were forming a protective barrier. More pain came as her ovaries trembled, and with the rush of blood coming from between her legs, she felt weak in her knees. She slumped down against the walls and felt her elbow break her fall upon an old chest. She often kept sewing supplies, clean cloths, and other necessities inside, and so she opened it, retrieving a new cloth to lay on her bed. Another she took and soaked it in a nearby bowl of water. Now that she was alone, she undressed and began to clean herself. As the water soaked the blood onto the cloth, the sight of the red was sharp in her eyes. Its bright red color gave her the feeling of absolute fear. Once she was cleaned, she put on a new nightdress and made her bed presentable. She placed a new cloth over the mattress, and she tried to keep her folds closed. She began to weep into her pillow as the thunder roared. As she heard the loud tremors, her skin crawled. With the tightening of the pain, she tried to lay comfortably. All the sensations of pain lingered in her fingertips, her toes. With the storm brewing darker in the skies, she looked towards the window and heard a small scratching noise at the panes of glass. Her lashes were aligned with dewy tears. She could hear it clear as day.

\---

With the pain subsided for a few hours, she was finally able to move about and finish her duties. She cleaned the whole house and washed the flooring, ever mindful that at any moment the blood could seep through her clothes. As she lingered on her knees, she heard the cries of a bat once again. It came from within the inner corner of the house. She could feel the eyes of the rodent upon her nape as she tried to avoid its face. The hairs upon her neck stood as she heard its small wings scratching against the corner. Had it smelled her blood? Had it given chase to follow her and watch her? As the storm continued outside, it was then that the sharp pains came back. The brush fell from her hand into the bucket and she clasped her hands at her abdomen. Her breath hitched in her throat as she rasped. She wished for some kind of relief, for some kind of sedative to help quench the pain. Her stepfather was out of the house, away at the fields working. It was her alone in the house and now she had the ability to leave.

Once she stood up, she went towards the wall, grabbing a shawl off of a peg and wrapped it around her shoulders. She brushed her long hair over her shoulder, and with a lantern in hand, she opened the door and began to make her way out into the dark thoroughfair. Mud smeared against the heels of her flat slippers. Leaves crackled and crunched, and sticks broke beneath her feet as well. It was not pouring, but she quickened in pace as if it were about to rain violently. She knew of a midwife who was experienced in both red flowers and childbirth. She had herbal remedies and teas to help, that was her only chance of relief from such a mess. She also had a desire to keep them from smelling the blood. She knew certain creatures could detect the scent of prey through an iron aroma. She had not hunted at all in her life, yet she felt as though she was becoming the prey to an unseen predator. She turned multiple corners and went deeper into the dark hollow of the village. The midwife's hut was located deep on the outskirts of the village, but was still considered a part of their parish. Evangeline passed the church and saw the priests at prayer. Something about the sight seemed foreboding to her, yet hopeful. 

It was an indescribable experience. She had long prayed to God, due to the faiths and badgering of her stepfather; she was afraid to follow her own path, her own heart, due to the mere fact that she would become a pariah to the other villagers. She knew they feared change. The iron handle of the lantern trembled in her hand, especially as she grew closer to the hut. The sense of despair consumed her, and always, she could feel unseen eyes upon her. Once she reached the front door of the hut, she knocked. A trembling set of knuckles pulled back as she let out a small whimper.

"Hello?" she asked. "Is anyone home?"

As if it were clockwork, the door cracked open and a veiled eye appeared in the frame. Shadows illuminated the old woman's cheekbone, and the film of her pale white eye had been captured in the moonlight. Evangeline tried not to stare, but the woman's eye was hypnotic. "What do you want, child?"

The woman's voice was a mere croak. It sent shivers down the front of Evangeline's chest as she stared, and the very fabric of her shawl seemed chilled. She licked her lips quickly and replied, staring down at the ground. "Do you have any kind of tea to help with the pain?"

"What is it you have? Pain from gout, or pain in your knees when you pray or take a man with your mouth?" The disgruntled voice sounded hoarse and crass, but curious all the same. 

The young woman did not know what to think about the explicit inquiries in the older woman's voice, but she shook her head as she continued to avoid eye contact. "No. The pain is from my flower, dear lady. I bleed so much and the pains in my womb make me feel weak. It has not hurt this much since I first got it in my twelfth year."

"Hmm. Come inside."

When she entered, she saw skinned rabbits and the discarded fur lying in a nearby bucket. Perhaps the old woman had been preparing her supper, but the scent, the sight, it all gave Evangeline tremors. Herbal bundles of rosemary, thyme, chamomile, and peppermint all hung from the rafters of the kitchen hut. The smell was pleasant, but as it combined with the scent of animal blood, her nausea returned. A kettle hung from within the fireplace upon an iron hook, and there the midwife gathered it with a cloth covering her hand. She retrieved a cup and gathered the leafs nearby. They were that of the raspberry plant, one rich and protective. Evangeline stood at the table where the woman prepared the tea. It began to seep into the hot water, and it became dyed in its appearance. A gentle purple-red color formed in the entire liquid. As she placed her lantern down, the midwife passed her the cup. Its hot brew gave off a sweet robust aroma, and the steam entered the air, giving her a warm sensation as she felt it at her lips. She drank it and felt the tea warm her throat, her breast, her stomach. Within a minute and a half, she had consumed the brew completely.

With her tone gentle and meek, she gave the old woman her compliments. "I thank you for the tea."

"Drink that brew as you bleed. It will help with the pain. I will give you this jar, but you must go into the wood to fetch the leaves and herbs. They are not grown within the village and so you must collect them yourself. Now take this and go."

She passed her a jar with a string covering a cloth at the top. It was half full with herbs already, and she pointed through her window. The hollow of the wood waited in front of her. For her, it seemed an opportunity to leave, to run and find a different place. She had felt the abuse of her stepfather for so long, and as she felt the sharp whip of his belt at her back, she trembled. She nodded once towards the midwife and thanked her. Gathering the lantern in hand, Evangeline walked towards the door, clasping the jar to her breast as she held onto her shawl. The old woman watched her leave, and as the door closed, the winds blew harder. The scent of the raspberry tea was strong on her lips, and the smell of her blood was powerful. She had cleaned herself as much as she could, yet as she tried to keep the blood from staining her clothes with a cloth between her legs, it still seeped through. Through the pain, she walked towards the edge of the village. 

A mere post with another lantern was the only way to see that it was indeed a vacinity. As she passed it, she felt unprotected. The sanctity of her church was behind her, and as she steadied along, flashes of lightning loomed over the mountains. A foundation sat there within its hold, and she saw it was a castle. The woods along the mountain seemed bountiful, yet around the castle, it seemed desolate. She ventured in further until the sight of her lantern's glow was gone to the naked eye.

\---

Once she was cleared of the muddy trail, she wandered in further to the wood. She saw bushes with strings to act as markers, and she also saw trappings of hunters. She saw traps for bear, rabbit. She reached out further with the lantern to illuminate the path. Leaves and branches continued to snap beneath her feet, and there she saw the same familiar herbs within the jar to her right. She knelt down carefully and began to pick the leaves and plants, little by little. Hints of green stained her fingertips as she continued to pluck the leaves as well. Once Evangeline uncovered the top of the jar, she packed the herbs and leaves into the glass carefully. The winds were subsided by the trunks of the trees, but yet it still brushed against her and swept through her hair, leaving her scent on the air.

It extingushed the light of her lantern, and immediately, she was left in the darkness. She rasped and felt herself fall backward, and the shawl was swept from her shoulders in a swift gust. The trees provided cover from the moonlight, except with minimal slivers shining in from the canopy. She stood immediately, gathering both the jar and lantern in hand, and began to look for the rest of the path. With her bare arms and collarbone exposed, she seemed small. Her figure was rather light against the dark contrast of the woods. As the slivers of moonlight shone down on her, she seemed radiant, but opportune in her loneliness. She was now ample prey.

She began to walk down through a wide crevice which eventually led to a newfound path. She saw imprints of hooves in the dirt and it gave her the distinction that this road was traveled, perhaps often. Evangeline spied something large in the distance and as she carried the appliances in hand. She stepped closer and saw that it was an aristocrat's carriage, manned by four horses. The steeds were large, black, sleek against the dark bark of the forest. Their brown eyes seemed witched as they trotted in place, and Evangeline found it to be rather unsettling. She dropped the lantern from her hand as she corned the carriage. Her full lips fell open and she felt herself shuddering. There was no driver, and as she spied the door of the carriage propped wide open, it was then that she felt something was amiss. 

"Please, God no."

As she went to turn immediately, she felt two hands upon her arms. With it being as dark as it was, she could not see a face, only a figure with rattled clothing and wild hair. She screamed as she was thrown against the carriage, then pushed deep into its hold. The jar collapsed to the ground and the glass shattered. The door slammed shut and locked. The cab of the carriage shook and she knew then that someone mounted it. The sound of a whip cracked in front and the horses began to move in rhythm. The back of her head ached as she lay on the floor. Weakly, she tried to sit up.

"Please stop!" she cried. "Please let me go!"

There was no answer from the driver. As she bled from the back of her head and in between her legs, the blood loss was rather sufficient in making her feel weak. Evangeline's pale body collapsed onto the carriage floor fully, and there she felt herself falling out of consciousness. The carriage rocked her body back and forth, and as if it were a mother lulling her child, she began to fall asleep and lose touch with her active consciousness. As she began to dream, the cries of the same bat resonated in her ears.


	3. Chapter Two

The smell of the damp air collided in her nostrils as she awoke. When her eyes cracked open slowly, she found herself upon a four-poster bed. She was covered from the breast down, and she held onto the blanket as she immediately sat up. Her fingertips clutched onto the fabric as if she were a scared child. Looking all around, she observed the room in which she stayed. At the Gothic-styled window, there sat thick red curtains on either side of its glass. There were rich candelabras with golden antique bases on a nearby nightstand and on the table in front of the bed; they all beheld tall red taper candles, which burned brightly in the dim room. She threw the blanket away from her person, and then as she stood up weakly, she felt how her knees locked. She slumped against the bed as it broke her fall. Her elbows caught the edge of the mattress, and there she saw small drops of blood stained onto its white sheets. She reached to the back of her head, and there she felt a bandage there. It was wrapped around her head, and as she reached onto her scalp, she felt a knot underneath the bandage. She saw a vial of morphine on the nightstand as well as a needle. Had she been given an injection for the pain while she was unconscious? But how had she entered such a room? Who had carried her and moved her?

Her temples throbbed as the array of questions entered her mind. The small veins there began to pulsate, and as she trembled from the cold, she wrapped her arms around herself, backing towards the fireplace where the coals burned. The flames crackled as the colors of red and orange combined. The heat began to warm her as she knelt beside the hearth, and with the storm now shifted into the east, the mountains seemed desolate. It was still dark outside, and the moon was now hidden. The clouds were gathered in the apex of the sky with thick condensation. She could feel how wet and damp it was outside, and the scent of fresh rain often comforted her; it lingered in her room as the window cracked open. Her eyes began to close in a trance. Something whispered to her and quietly, she listened. It was a deep voice that entered her ear rather slowly. Her breasts heaved as the voice dripped with an acute lacing of foreboding pleasure; her nipples grew erect, for she could feel the presence upon her very skin. The baritone voice consumed her senses.

_"My apologies for having you brought here so late. I would have waited until the storm ceased completely, but I was rather eager to have you here. Do sleep well. You will find a spare gown upon the bed, and if you should leave this room for any reason, know this— there are many memories both foul and desolate within these halls, and it would be most unwise for you to venture through my halls alone. This castle has many secrets, and I will employ any tactics to ensure their safety. Be warned."_

Her eyes opened immediately. She directed her attention back to the hearth and saw the flames burning yellow in their form. Flashes of red turned violent, and as she reached into the stand for a poker, she threw its sharpened edge into the flame. Fear had consumed her. She was not at the edge of paranoia, but she would not risk her own safety. She kept watch over the iron as it burned bright, turning red-hot. Her arms clasped around herself as she huddled closely for warmth. The strands of her dark brown hair clung to her throat, hiding it, shading it. As the twisting pains in her womb began to cease, she felt some relief. As her eyes began to glaze over from exhaustion, she heard a rustling outside the bedroom door.

Evangeline turned her head wearily to face the door. As she began to crawl towards the sound, her eyes struggled to stay open. Her body felt weak, tired. She fell onto the floor then and her eyes closed. She heard the door open, and a soft gasp left the voice of the one who entered. Her bosom heaved lightly as she breathed. She seemed peaceful as she lay unaware, and it was then that the man placed the tray to the side and approached her. With her in arm, he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed. The covers were pulled back already, and as he lay her there, he saw the last few stains of her blood there. He did not want to alarm her, to wake her when she needed rest, but he could not allow him to come across her while she bled. He devised a ploy that would protect her. Reaching into his coat pocket, he removed a necklace, equipped with a small cross upon it. He moved her dark hair to the side and put it around her shapely neck, clasping it and placing the cross in front upon her breast. It shone in its silver light, and he knew then as long as she would not take it off, she would be safe. He quietly covered her with the blanket, then he removed himself from the bed. He observed how soft and frail she was. The bandage was a stark contrast against her dark hair, and with her bosom rising gently, she seemed at peace.

As he retrieved the tray and placed it on her nightstand, he stood awkwardly at the edge of the bed as he went around its corner. He watched her sleep and nervously, he wrung his hands together. The pain that formed in his throat grew hard. He often loathed the thought of innocent blood being shed, but then again, that was his duty to his master, to bring him young women and to discard them if they were not suitable, loyal. His conjoined brows furrowed in a melancholic manner over his blue eyes. The stare that he gave her was not one of malice. As he heard the bell of his master, he looked from her to the door, then back to her again before leaving.

He closed the door behind him and locked it. With the key in hand, he was the only one who held the ability to let her in and out of the room. He did not wish to keep her a prisoner, but in the night, she had no choice. It was either the choice of locking her away, or letting his master come to feed. He loathed the thought of dismantling her body as he had done with so many others. Once the key fell into his pocket, the shrill sound of the bell kept ringing. He whispered against the door, saying, "I will come back later. Whatever you do, sweet girl, never take off that cross. It's your only protection."

\---

As she slept, she could hear the bat. 

Its small shrieks reverberated off the walls and rang inside her head. Her hands gripped at the sheets as she began to sweat. The tops of her breasts were adorned with a thin sheen, and as she turned onto her side, she began to pant. Her blood quickened in her veins as she heard the bat drawing closer.

"No, please go away!"

She could see the bat's eyes peering past its flat nose. As it fluttered over her in her sleep, she found herself aghast with tears. Her arms trembled as she reached out and tried to swing at it, trying to distance herself from being bitten. It must've followed her, this she knew. If it remained with her as she slept, then she knew it must have followed her through the dark. As her eyes rolled behind her closed lids, she felt the blood fill her nipples, her labia. Everything that resonated in fear now pulsated through her curvaceous body in tremors of... pleasure. It frightened her. She did not understand how she could go from fear to longing, and as she heard the bat flying closer towards her, Evangeline sat up and screamed. Her hazel-green eyes flashed open the moment she heard her own scream resonating.

She looked all around while clasping her hands to her head. She saw that dawn had come, as hues of red pierced through the window panes. But at her breast, the cross caught her attention. A hand clasped over it as she observed it. The small figure of Christ sat brightly upon its shape. She redirected her attention back to the glass, and saw that it was a light red color. As she removed herself from the bed, she raced towards the window, her hand suddenly unlocking it and opening it altogether. She looked out and saw how far the drop was. It was a hundred-foot plunge into a rocky cliffside. The height of the castle was towering in its own foundations, and as she stared out of the window, she heard the door's lock clicking. Her breath left her in a small rasp, and she scurried then back towards the bed. Immediately, she threw the covers back over herself. The pillow caught her dark hair as she rested it there against its damask form. The door opened and even though she pretended to sleep, she slowly peaked through her right eye. It was a blur, but eventually she saw who entered the room.

The man was of average height, five feet eight or so, with his skin pale and haggard. His hair was a salted grey, darkened with gentle ash hues, and his brows were perhaps conjoined over a pair of blue eyes. Stubble sat upon his lip and chin, and he seemed to have a shadow upon his face; there were bags under his eyes and it appeared that he could not sleep. The conditions of his clothes too seemed poorly, and inwardly, she felt an overwhelming sensation of sadness coming from him. He brought in a tray which beheld a tray of biscuits, a bowl of broth, an empty cup and a pot of tea. While he seemed ragged, his demeanor did not seem foul. Was he the man she had seen last night? Was he the one who had pushed her into the carriage? Once he had placed the tray down on her nightstand, she closed her eyes completely. She did not want to give herself away, yet she could not help herself. The older man loomed at the bedside, and he brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. It rested behind her ear and exposed her soft cheekbone. Her heart raced only slightly as he pulled away. Beneath her nightdress, he could feel herself growing wet. It was not from her now-finished cycle, but from the fact that he instilled something in her. Before she could open her eyes to look at him clearly, she heard the sound of a bell.

He groaned from annoyance. She felt his fingertips at her cheek once again, but this time, his voice trembled. His grovelly tone took on a concerned sound. "You may walk about during the day when you'll be safe. But tread carefully, dear girl. The Master is not a forgiving creature."

She felt a breeze brush against her as he left the bedside. The creak of the door entered her ears as well, and as it closed, she did not hear it lock. Slowly, Evangeline sat up and felt the warmth of the sun crawl over her. It peered through the window more brightly, and as she wrapped her arms around herself, she felt safe, protected. Something stirred inside her as she recalled his touch. The tips of his fingers felt so warm. She knew then that he was not the master, but perhaps an indentured servant. Her stomach growled from both hunger and fear, but still, she had never held such resolve to venture deep into a stranger's home, to uncover what secrets there may be.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm so sorry for not having updated in forever, but here be a new chapter! I'm currently working on the next one as well, but in this one, I thought it'd be interesting to have a little look into the Count's heritage. Vlad II (the Impaler's father) and Cneajna (presumed mother) were real people, though because of the historical contexts, their years are hard to place. Much isn't really written on them, so I've comprised whatever real facts I could find and combined them with fiction. Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of corpses and graphic descriptions of opened wounds down below. Read at your own discretion!

She opened the bedroom door rather slowly, and as she craned her head outside of the frame, she eyed the long hall that led from the end of the corridor to a flight of stairs. The smell of damp dew and cracked concrete entered her nostrils. She saw small patches of moss growing from within the cracks, and as she stepped outside of the room, she could feel a cold breeze blowing through the corridor. Torches sat aligned upon the wall and illuminated her surroundings. Her hand clasped the cross around her throat as she trekked out of the room. She wore a thin shawl upon her shoulders with her hair pulled over the front of her shoulder, and the scent of her body, her blood, it all resonated through the air in a powerful aroma. She felt compelled to explore everywhere that seemed unguarded to her. She walked around the corner and approached the flight of stairs. It curved downward in a spiral into the deep, furrowing darkness. The further she descended down, the stronger the scent of earth and dust became. The sour feeling had returned to her stomach. As she moved further down the flight, she felt a pair of eyes upon her nape.

They were not human, not present in all physicality. Those dark eyes watched her round the corner as she descended further into the bowels of the castle. Once she reached the bottom, there was an elongated hallway comprised of many doors on either side. Most were bound by chains, but the few that were not, they called to her in a strange manner. She heard whispers emit from behind the oak, and there she walked closer to each of the massive doors. Her hand grazed along the stone of the wall. As she walked towards the first door, she saw a torch sitting in its slot, covered in webs and seemingly extingushed for years at a time. It was dark when she approached, but as soon as her hand touched the circular knob of the door, the torch lit itself aflame. Bright ripples of red and orange eclipsed the oil-soaked mound of the head, and as Evangeline fell against the door out of fear, the fire burned bright and warm. Her brows pulled together in confusion. Perhaps this was hell, and for those who entered, their souls would be marked. She had lost her faith in Christ, but why would a torch burn for her now? Curiously, cautiously, she pulled it from its slot and began to push onto the door. Her elbow contacted its chapped wood and as she jerked the knob hard, she found that the door was able to swing open however far it could.

She entered inside and saw that it was a ceremonial crypt. There were two sarcophagi aligned in the middle of the pitch-black room, one bearing the form of a man, the other of a woman. There were treasures aligned around the bottom of the marble, and as she stepped closer, she saw the near-faded inscriptions. One was named Vlad II, the other was Cneajna. With the hoardes of Turkish riches around the feet of their tombs, she deduced then that this had to of been the master's family. Small mounds of coin, snippets of jewelry, and many swords, fallen shields. They were the spoils of war. But as she observed the sarchophagi closer, she only the birth year of Vlad II. It was the year 1400, but for Cneajna, there were no years, no recollection of death. Only her name remained. Evangeline's breath hitched in her throat and it felt as though her lungs were filling with age-old dust. These had to of been the master's parents. Out of fear, she nearly dropped the torch. She backed away and then felt something fall upon her shoulder. As she turned to face what it was that touched her, she let loose a curdling scream. Behind her, staked upon vast pieces of sharpened wood, were skeletons and half-decayed corpses. For those who were not completely bone, their flesh was bloated, grey, and distorted. In their eye sockets, maggots slightly turned and their bowels seemed famished. One corpse beheld a half-severed jaw, and its tongue was rotted, hanging to the side of its teeth. Tears formed in her eyes as she began to hyperventilate.

She seemed so absent-minded of the room's innards, that when a large rat brushed past her ankle, she thought nothing of it. It was then that the smell finally got to her as well. It was almost indescribable, save for the detail of the rotting flesh. It smelled of foul, festering appendages. Sharp accents of clotted blood and boiled skin entered her nostrils. Her eyes began to tear from acute nausea, and as she cupped her hand over her nose, trying to avoid the smell, she began to run out of the room. The rats inside had ascended the length of the corpses, and their small teeth began to nibble on the exposed skin. Her eyes were now streaming with tears, and while her back was turned to the flight, she hadn't expected a warm hand to grasp her other shoulder. She dropped the torch and with the light peering from the top of the stairs, she fell unconscious. Arms wrapped around her and held her close. She saw the fire of the torch fading as blackness consumed her vision. She did not know who carried her, but she deduced that he was no monster, for truly, his hands were warm and she could feel the blood racing beneath the skin. And as he carried her through the halls, all she could hear was a single sentence uttered from his lips.

"Oh child, what have you gotten yourself into?"

\---

She was returned to the same room in which she first awoke, and there she felt a hand dabbing a cool cloth to her forehead. She felt her sweat being swept away, and as she turned her head among the pillow, her eyes slowly roaming behind her lids. A loud scream emitted from her throat once again, but was stopped once he grasped onto her arms. She thrashed and cried, leaning forward to cling to him.

"It's alright," he said, his voice raspy. "I'm not going to hurt you, dear girl. Please, it's alright. You're safe."

She could see his features more clearly now as her eyes opened and still, her mind raced. The man before her had piercing blue eyes, soft and yet restless. There were bags under his lower lids, and grey-white stubble upon his cheeks; his upper lip and chin were graced with the same stubble, though they were more pronounced. His hair was an ash grey with gentle streaks of white. His wild brows were conjoined over the bridge of his nose, and with his lips thin, his nose pointed, he seemed rather harmless. He retracted his hands from her and held them up, as to assure her that he bore her no ill will. Evangeline's lips trembled. Her hand grasped the cross at her breast, but then as she sat up, she looked at him and saw how different his demeanor was. It seemed he was melancholic, full of remorse. It seemed as though he didn't want to hurt her, and if he had, he regreted it immensely. While she did not feel threatened by him, she was unsure. He dipped the cloth back into a bowl of water and rung it out. The drops of water seemed soft, and as he went to dab at her temples, she lay back down and kept a curious gaze upon him.

He kept his head down and tried not to make eye contact with her. She saw the slight tear upon his lip then, and it made her heart race. It was crusted with dried blood, smelling of iron. It occured to her then that he must have suffered some kind of abuse. Gently, she reached for his lips and very lightly, traced the flesh there without touching the tear. To him, her fingertips felt like an array of marble. As she recoiled from his lip, he stared at her blankly. For a moment, there was nothing but a warm silence between them. Her dark brown hair fell over her shoulder and illuminated the cross she wore. He looked down at her breast only once, then returned the gaze back to her eyes. He cupped the back of her head and spoke lowly, as if not to be heard by anyone else. "Never take that cross off. It'll keep you safe."

"But why?"

"The Master," he said. "He's not in the giving vein, nor is he merciful for that matter. I know that better than anyone. As long as you wear that cross, he cannot touch you."

The feeling of dread fell over her for only a moment, but then as she returned her gaze to his lip, she sighed. "You were the one who abducted me and put the cross around my throat, weren't you? Why?"

He could not answer her. She was like a curious child, asking him questions in such a softened voice. As the older man kept sitting beside her on her bed, he swallowed hard and began to gather the cloth and bowl onto a tray. It was obvious that he did not want to frighten her, or cause her further alarm. He stood then and moved towards the door. Evangeline removed herself from the bed and followed behind. Her hand was placed upon his shoulder, and there he winced only slightly. She retracted her hand as she spoke softly. "Oh, please forgive me."

Before he left, he paused and looked at her over his shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive. But please, do not take off that cross. That is the only request I have of you."

"What is your name? May I learn it before you leave?"

Behind her, he saw how the sun began to hide behind the clouds. It was a faint day, with the gloom roaming over the mountainside. The winds began to move through the trees once more, and the branches held their sway. He could see that the day would begin to bleed into twilight at any moment. He swallowed hard once, then looked back at her with a pair of remorseful eyes. "I cannot stay another minute. The Master will be awake in a few hours. Please, reach into my pocket and take the key."

With her brows furrowed, she did as he bid. She reached into the outer pocket of his ruined dark coat, and there she found a skeleton key that opened any door of the castle. Its brass body held a skull in its handle, and there she saw him leave. He was moving swiftly down the hall, and his voice reverberated off the stone. "Lock the door behind me, child."

Peaking out of the doorway, she shouted after him. "But you haven't told me your name!"

"Later. Now please lock your door. I will come back soon."

He turned the corner with the tray in hand and there his figure faded out of sight. Behind her, she watched as the skies went from being clouded to black. The storms had come once again. Thunder roared throughout the skies, and lightning rippled across the thickening clouds. She slammed the door shut and inserted the key inside quickly. Once it locked, she raced back to her bed as if she were a small child. The foundations of the castle gently trembled, and there as she allowed her head to fall upon the pillow again, she heard the sounds of a bat scratching at the windowsill. She closed her eyes tightly and though she had lost her faith, she began to pray once more.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's contents were inspired by my dear friend, Virna! You may find her at ariel-seagull-wings on Tumblr! She offered the idea to me through our messages, and I am so, so grateful for her ideas. She's very inspiring and wonderful.
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of animal carnage, blood, and dismemberment down below. Read at your own discretion.
> 
> And as always, thank you for the comments and kudos! More to come!

The hours had passed slowly, but as the storms blew harder towards the west, all remained calm. She had attached the key onto the chain of her necklace, as not to lose it, and as she awoke to the sight of the lightning fading away into the distance, she threw the blankets back from her body. Her pale feet trekked across the carpet and towards the nightstand. There she lowered her face to clean it. The water dripped warm from her hands and made ripples into the bowl. Once she was sure the dust from around the edge of her hairline was gone, she dried her face and moved towards the window. The panes of glass were still wet from the rain, and as she opened it, she looked down the side of the castle. It seemed more of a drop at night than it did during the day. The slopes of the cliffside seemed more jagged, sharp. The wetness made the rocks seemed more jaded. The scent of the fresh rain was a comfort to her. Evangeline looked towards the forest paths from across the way, and there she saw something sleek, black, moving on all fours. Her blood went cold as she tried to look further at the shape. To her eyes, from what she could see of it, she saw that it was a large wolf. Its coat was either a dark grey, or completely black; it seemed large for one of its kind and she saw then where it headed to. Down below on a lower plain, there stood a Carpathian stag. Its horns were elongated, sharpened. Its very rack seemed two wild arms upon its head. The body of the animal was towering, thick, covered with long whisps of brownish hair. Evangeline shook her head as she watched the wolf grow closer to the unsuspecting animal.

The wolf's jaws were drawn forward. Its lips were pulled back in a snarl, and like a shadow slinking over the cold grass, the sound of its feet grew quieter. The stag leaned down and supped upon the grass and fallen leaves. The thicket it stood in provided hardly any shelter. As she stood there in silence, with her heart racing and her eyes filling with tears, Evangeline grasped onto the key and cross, murmuring a prayer. Even if it was a part of nature, she loathed it so. The wolf lunged forward and struck the stag's back leg. 

_"Dear God, no!"_

The viciousness of the wolf was unyielding. As the two animals struggled, the stag bucked its legs and tried to evade the predator. Even for its size, it seemed too nimble. The wolf was just as large, if not hauntingly so, and with a single leap, it sank its canines into the stag's throat. The wolf thrashed with the stag in its jaws, twisting it quickly, breaking its neck. Though she could not see the blood from afar, Evangeline could undoubtedly tell that the predator had subdued its prey. The stag's limbs no longer kicked. The wolf dropped its prey to the ground and began to gnaw further into its throat. The tears fell fresh down her face as she backed away from the window. She swept past the red curtains and thought of the color of blood. She hated the thought of animals dying violently, but after all, that was the way of nature, was it not? She ran to the bed and collapsed upon it, her eyes growing heavy. Her dark brown hair veiled her face, and the softness of her skin was illuminated. She wept into the pillows, but then heard a pair of knocks at the door. Her head shot up immediately. She brushed the tears from her eyes and stood upright from the bed quickly.

"Who is it?"

"It is the servant from before," the voice said. "I've brought you sustenence. Do you wish for me to leave the tray at your door?"

Please, she thought to herself. Please do not leave me here alone another second. "One moment. Let me open the door for you."

She walked towards the oak and inserted the key to the lock, turning the handle open. His ragged appearance was less of a shock to her, as she could see him clearly now. His hands were full with a silver tray, and as he walked inside, she saw him place it upon the nearby table. She could smell honey, milk, the very scent of mamaliga. She approached him gently, though he did not bother to look her in the eye. He seemed rather determined as not to look at her. Whether it was from fear or from shyness, she did not know. As he walked towards the door, she reached out and gently touched his shoulder. He stopped and for once, turned to look at her once again. His blue eyes seemed worn, tired. Exhaustion was apparent on his figure. She retracted her hand and spoke with a soft tone.

"You do not have to bring me such commodities."

His raspy voice responded without pause. "A girl should not have to starve. You do not need to thank me."

He almost left the room again, but she raced to block him within the doorway. "But I want to. Must you leave so soon? Won't you share some with me?"

"I-I have already had my fill. There are other chores to be done in the castle, and I must prepare everything for the Master." 

A strange tenderness emitted from his person. He did not seem one to harm her, yet his appearance to the general eye would have otherwise continued to give the wrong impression. He cleared his throat as he tried to move her aside. She made him pause the moment she placed her hand upon his chest. He looked down at her soft white wrist, then back into her hazel-green eyes. 

"Please tell me your name," she begged. "I wish to know it so that I may thank you and know what to address you by."

He grasped her wrist and softly placed it down at her side. "Klove."

If by chance, her dark lashes bat slowly at the sound of his name. She gave him a closed smile that was brief, but endearing. She moved to the side and allowed him to pass. "Thank you, Klove. My name is Evangeline. I think our encounters will be more meaningful now that we know one another."

Beneath his stubble, blood rushed to his cheeks. The poor man seemed despondant with himself, as if he did not know what to think, what to say. He moved pass her and simply said, "Eat. I will return later. And please, lock your door always."

"May I ask you one favor, Klove? It pains me to ask since I know you have other duties, but I was merely curious about something."

He lowered his head as he replied. "Of course, miss. What is it?"

She wrung her hands nervously as she looked to her feet. "Can you bring me leaves of rosemary, thyme? Maybe peppermint, perhaps chamomile?"  
  
He obliged with a response. "I shall see what I have in the kitchens. I will return later with some hazelnuts and partridge for your supper. Please lock the door when I leave."

She nodded only once at his request. The scent of damp dew and moss swept pass as she watched him leave down the hallway again. His clothes seemed rather rattled, ruined. She clung onto the door frame and leaned against the stone. Her eyes bat slowly as she watched him turn. One more time, he looked her in the eye and paused. She rasped with a slight curve to her lips as she backed away inside. The door closed and she leaned forward to lock it again. The sound of his footsteps echoed off of the stone flooring. But as he left, she could have sworn that she had heard him call her something gentle, something meaningful. The word _prinţesă_ lingered in her ears as she approached the tray. Taking the cup in hand, she could smell the honey more clearly as she drank the milk. She had not felt hungry, but she would indulge in emptying the dish, if only to please him and give him gratitude for his work in preparing it for her. As she slowly supped upon the rest of the course, she finished in silence. Once the dishes were emptied, she placed them back onto the tray and covered it with the lid.

She returned to the bed and watched as the moon began to pour out from behind the clouds. A strange sensation flooded her then. As she reclined upon the pillows, she could feel a pair of eyes upon her. She did not give way to fear, nor terror. The vibrations lingered in her toes and fingers, all the way to the folds of her soft cunny and her breasts. Evangeline began to fall into a trance, and as the window pane opened, a sleek shadow entered the room without a single noise.

\---

With the door locked, she stayed in bed and watched as the skies and their turmoil grew yet again. It was now completely dark outside, save for the flashes of lightning that eclipsed the skies. Evangeline turned onto her side and tightly grasped the pillow. Tears streamed over the bridge of her nose, and as she felt the wind blow through the cracks of the window pane, she trembled. She prayed that nothing would affect her sleep. She had been having night terrors since she arrived at the castle, and with the way that man told her to keep the cross on her breast, how could she not listen?

Within the hour, she had fallen asleep. The rain poured hard against the window and the lightning continued to flash. Only a few loud rumbles shook the foundations of the castle, but yet as she turned to lie flat, writhing, arching her back, she could feel a strange feeling form between her legs. Her monthly cycle had finished, yet she felt so sensitive to the slightest touch. There was no blood coming from between her thighs and to her, it felt like there was. A deep, sensual pressure formed in her canal. It felt like something was burrowing inside her. She began to inhale deeply, grabbing roughly at the sheets. Something did not feel right to her. Tears formed within the corners of her eyes, and as she felt the feeling of fingers upon her nape, she heard an awful scream. It was not of a woman's voice, but of a man's. Her eyes flashed open and she left the bed rather quickly. Had something happened? Was there an accident? She ripped the chain of the necklace off from 'round her throat, there she began to steadily unlock the door. She ran down the hallway immediately and turned down to the flight of stairs where she had seen Klove leave.

Her first instinct was protective. Her eyes frantically searched the halls, the nearby rooms, but instead she found nothing. She moved through a different room with a cold fireplace in its setting, then to a new flight of stairs. The train of her nightgown flowed behind her rather gently and yet wildly. Her breasts bounced upon her chest as her feet trekked her down the steps. The screams continued once again and she could feel more tears form. Finally, she entered the foyer and saw a fire burning brightly in the hearth. The tapestries were that of men being slaughtered by soldiers, with one brute guiding them along in war. As Evangeline paused in the open, her eyes went wide as she spied a pool of fresh blood upon the floor. There, she saw bits and pieces of a human body dismembered. A tub of boiling acid was next to it, but as to who was there taking the pieces apart, it shocked her. She almost collapsed to her knees out of fear. She could not see the face of the victim, but only the familiar face she had seen hours ago. 

There knelt Klove with his hands bloodied, his apron smeared, and his eyes half-closed from the burning sensation of the acid. His hair was frantic around his face and the light of the fire illuminated his figure more closely. Her hands clasped to her mouth and there she cried. Before she could scream, a new pair of hands found her upper forearms. The nails upon the fingertips were sharp, white. The knuckles themselves were pronounced and cold. Looking up and over her shoulder, there she saw a man with handsome, cold features looking down at her. For a moment, she spied his bloodshot eyes. They slowly faded back into their usual white form. But what frightened her most were his lips. Those soft, thin whisps of flesh were grazed with fresh blood. Streaks poured from either side of his mouth. A long, billowing black cape surrounded her as he pulled her up into his arms. She allowed her head to fall back, as she herself went limp and unconscious from fright.

"Get rid of the appendages and clean the flooring," the Master said. "Leave no trace behind. I will return the young lady to her room."

"But, Master—" Klove objected. 

"Do as you are told." The voice was a baritone's deep hum, one laced with command. It was an age-old voice, and one so rightly feared. 

The servant lowered his head then as he began to scrub the floor. Blood smeared into the cracks of the stone as he washed it with muddled water. The sight of the cape began to fade away. Within a mere moment, he was gone. Klove could feel his pulse quickened, especially so as he eyed the cross and key he had given to her lying not three feet from him upon the floor.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue was mostly inspired again by my dear friend, Virna, who has been so sweet and considerate with her ideas. I recently lost my grandmother on the nineteenth of this month, so all my conversations with my Tumblr friends have helped distract me from my grief. Love to all, and of course, more is to come!
> 
> Find my dear friend at ariel-seagull-wings on Tumblr!

The hours had begun to pass by rather slowly. Once the body parts had been dissolved, the acid had been disposed of properly. The tub itself had been rinsed clean for the next use, and the smell of blood was still apparent in the cracks of the floor. No matter how hard he had tried to remove the crimson, it remained. He rolled up the small axe and knives into the satchel cloth, and then he began to clean the blade of the hand saw. It was mortifying to him that he had to perform such brute acts of cleanliness for his master. After all, with the villagers being a superstitious lot, he had to conceal the secrets of both master and castle. All the villagers knew was rumor. Klove stood to chart the tub out of the room on the small rollers, but it was then that the Count appeared before him on the staircase. His posture was straight, unmoving. The eyes were bloodshot once again and the irises were a desolate black. He seemed a marble statue whose lips were stained with fresh blood, and as he swept the crimson away from his lips with a cloth, Klove's heart sank deep inside his chest. He knew that with the cross off of her person, she was now susceptible to the vampire's advances. He hid the key and cross into his back pocket, as not to let the Count see it.

In a single stride, the vampire glided across the stone floor. The cape slid behind him and appeared as if it were an ocean of black and red. He seemed masterful and majestic in his towering stance. Once he stood before his servant, he spoke lowly. "The young miss is asleep for now. Once the sun comes, you will prepare a coffin for her. Put it in the catacombs once it is finished. The young lady will suffer her death and then by night, she will be my bride. Do not disobey me, lest you be rendered another punishment."

The bloodied rags fell from Klove's hands. They fell to the floor beside his ruined boots, and there he knelt down to pick them up. He did not want the Count to see the disdain he had for him, nor did he want the master to believe that he thought otherwise about his plans for the girl. The scent of acid and blood grew strong in his nostrils, making him feel nauseous. It was not the first time he had done the Count's bidding, but this time, it was the worst. He felt vulnerable. He felt exposed. He wondered then if Evangeline would grow to fear him after seeing the blood on his hands. Of course, he would not know until he saw her. As the vampire slipped past his servant, the rippling of his cape faded out of view. The moment his towering stature was gone, Klove stood upright and swallowed hard. All he could think of was her.

  
-

Before he decided to head upstairs, he went into the kitchen and prepared her a new dish. He had cut up some onions, as well as small bulbs of garlic for extra measure. He had obtained the bulbs from a secret garden he maintained, for he knew as well as any in the Romanian land that his master and his fellow compatriots could not withstand the scent. Once he cooked the necessary ingredients, he combined them together onto a plate of chicken liver. He retrieved a pitcher of water for her as well, but not before slicing a fresh lemon and squeezing it. Once everything was prepared, he lit a small candle and placed on the tray, to guide him as he'd walk up the flight. He walked through the space of the kitchen and through the vast emptiness of the halls. The staircase seemed like a towering mass of jagged stone, and as he climbed the steps, every muscle of his thighs and calves seemed to weight heavily. His conscience seemed plagued by the thought of her being so alone, and so he rushed himself as quickly as he could.

\---

Once at the door of her room, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the key in a quick manner as he balanced the tray very carefully. He thrust the key into the lock and heard it click, then he threw the door open to see her lying there. The red curtains of the four-poster frame loomed around the bed, half-covering her figure from his sight. Even as he closed the door behind him quietly, she did not stir. He immediately placed the tray on the nearby table and approached her. The soft lilac color of her nightgown sank around her legs and hid her feet. It seemed almost like a funerary cloth over her body. He walked over to the bedside and sat beside her. There his mouth fell open as he spied the wound on her neck. The two small pinpricks were fresh, pulsating. He ripped off a piece of his own sleeve to press against her neck to stop the bleeding. He brushed her dark hair out of the way, and as he put the cloth to her neck, she turned her head to face him. Her eyes opened weakly, and her arms trembled. Evangeline sat upright slowly and almost screamed, but instinctively, he clasped his hand to her mouth and hushed her, pinning her gently against the pillows. Their chests touched and as he looked down at her with his careful blue eyes, he remained calm. She began to thrash and quiver beneath his hold. The blood that ran down the side of her throat began to grow cold. Her tears fell from the corner of her eyes, and they soaked her temples as her lips trembled beneath his hand.

"It's alright, Evangeline. I'm going to remove my hand now, but please don't scream," he whispered. "The Count's hearing is immaculate. Do you trust me?"

Beneath his hand, she nodded. He removed his palm from her lips and saw how she sat up slowly. Her hair fell over her clean shoulder, and there in the midst of the candlelight, the piece of cloth from her neck. Tears fell from her eyes as she winced. Small trails of blood fell down her pale throat as he craned her head to observe it closely. The bite was not irritated, at least not yet, but he was careful to avoid touching her. As she lay back down, her head rested against the pillow. The look in her eyes seemed desolate. Klove went to retrieve the tray from the table. Once he came around with it, the scent of the food made her feel nauseous. He placed it on the nightstand beside the bed and reached for the glass and pitcher. 

He poured her a glass of lemon water and passed it to her. Weakly, she pushed his hand away. His brows furrowed together and he became confused. "What is wrong?"

"I do not want anything. I have no appetite, Klove, and I merely wish to die."

Worried, he grasped her wrist. "Why would you say something like that?"

As she turned onto her side, she slowly held his hand in hers. She clasped it to her cheek and sighed as she whispered. "Outside these castle walls, my stepfather beats me. Because I am not his flesh and blood, he tries to take advantage of me, but I won't let him. I refuse his advances and whenever I am not at prayer, he takes the belt to me. Now that I am imprisoned here, I am nothing but sustenance for your master. I am terrified to be used any further in this life. I don't want to be used any more. I merely wish for peace, and there is only one way for me to achieve that dream. What else is left for me in this world?"

He drew closer to see the sad expression on her face. The perfect complexion of her skin seemed like flawless marble compared to his flesh, and as he observed her, he replied to her with a fatherly tone. "Do not say that. You are a good, rare soul in this harsh world. You deserve the light."

"And how do you know that I am good? We have only known each other for a few nights, and yet you presume to think you know me."

He recoiled from her and tried to get her to drink the water. He cupped the other side of her face and leaned the cup to her lips. The lemon water slowly trinkled into her mouth, and she swallowed very gently. She turned her head to face away from him and he nodded slowly as he retracted the glass away from her. "You can't bear to look me in the eye for a long period of time, can you?"

Immediately, she returned her gaze to him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I am not the most congenial-looking man, I'll admit it. You might even have reservations of wondering if you can trust me. Of course, you have every right to be suspicious and terrified of this place, but know I will never mean you harm."

Evangeline's eyes bat slowly as he placed the glass back onto the nightstand. The scent of the lemon was strong, as was the scent of the garlic. Still, something formed in the silence between them. The aura was lightened, changed. The feeling of the room grew softer. She sat up slowly and grasped his hand gently into hers. She brushed her thumb lightly over his knuckles. The bruises were a light shade of blue, and it made her pity him. He tried to retract his hand from her hold, but she cupped his face instead. The stubble upon his lithe cheekbone brushed against her palm.

"I understand why you took me from my village. You put me in the carriage to bring back to the castle so that you may feed your master. But instead of handing me over to him immediately, you placed me here in this room and gave me this cross for protection. Why?"

He stood up from the bed and backed away quickly, as if he had just been burned. He clasped his hands to his stomach and looked down at her with tears forming in his eyes. "I wish I knew why."

"Klove," she sighed, walking over to him. "Why do you stay here? Why do you serve a creature that inflicts such horrific tortures upon you?"

His blue eyes went wide and his hands caught her shoulders. As he brought her in closely, he looked at her with fear and panic in his irises. "How do you know that?"

"Because I can smell the blood as it dries, and you wince at every little touch," she cried. "Does your family not know of what he does to you?"

He peered through the glass and watched as the tops of the trees swayed. He tried to find a welcome distraction as he let go of her. "I have no family, at least not anymore. It is as simple as that. Even if they did know, they would not care."

"Will you tell me your story, Klove?"

"Some other time, _prinţesă_. It is not for the faint of heart."

The forests outside consisted of thick beech, fir, pine. As the scents entered through the opened window pane, his face beheld a different expression. It seemed determined now, and as he grasped her hand, he began to lead her out of the room. The hold was neither rough nor gentle. She was confused by his sudden grip, and with the strength he had, he pulled her towards the flight of stairs. Before she could object, he swept her into his arms and she clung to him as if she were a frightened child. He carried her down the flight and down towards the kitchen exit. A dark passageway led past the stove and down past the belly of the castle. As they scurried out of sight, she hid her face into his throat and was ever mindful not to grasp onto his back.

\---

"What are you doing?" Evangeline wept. "Where are you taking me?"

He did not answer her, at least not immediately. Instead, as he carried her towards the stables, the rising sun began to creep over the trees. A bright reddish-pink hue, combined with shades of orange, filled the sky and the cold of the mountain range swept against them. The horses trotted in their stalls and finally, he placed her down. A nearby cape hung on a rack, and while it was light, its shade was dark. He grabbed it quickly and pulled her hair to rest over the front of her shoulder. He tied the strings of the cape at the base of her throat, then he opened up a stall and retrieved a mare. It was taller than her by a mere foot, and its white mane gleamed in the growing sunlight.

She repeated the same phrase again, but this time more perturbed. "What are you doing? Why won't you tell me what you have planned?"

"I am giving you this mare to get away from here."

_"What?"_

"The Count will kill you, Evangeline. If he won't do that, then he'll subject you to something far worse than servitude. He'll condemn you to a living death, and he won't ever let you rest. Now, take this with you _căci morții călătoresc repede_."

Once he passed her the reins of the horse's halter, he gave her a some small, beaded. As it fell into her hand, she discovered it was a rosary. The beads were red and between them, small orbs of pearls were strung together and at the edge of the necklace, there sat a silver crucifix. It did not seem common, and it was rather old in appearance. It must have been an heirloom, and she tried to pass it back to him. "I can't take this."

With a serious tone, he said, "Do you want to stay here and die? He's already fed from you once. Who's to say he won't finish you the next night?"

Something fell deep into her stomach, and an uncomfortable knot formed. A ball of pain developed in her throat and her tongue felt cold and heavy. "But what about you? He'll hurt you again for helping me escape."

He shrugged only once, appearing almost nonchalant. "What more can he do to me?"

Evangeline, with the rosary now wrapped around her hand, cupped his face in her hands. Her frail eyes peered into his as she whimpered. She wanted to hold him, to embrace him, but she did not want to press her arms across his wounds. The scent of blood was strong in her nostrils. Her heart felt faint in her chest, and her muscles felt cold. His hand cupped the back of her neck as he held her against him. Her hands then pressed against the front of his chest, and she felt a tear fall from her eye. It fell warm down her cheekbone as the sun began to peak through the stable door. He sighed into her shoulder and warmly rubbed her back.

"Don't fear for me, Evangeline. It will be alright."

"But..."

He looked at her once and then pulled her in closely, then helping to lift her up onto the mare's back. He was strong in his small stature, and as he helped her get ahold of the reins, he grabbed her hand one more time. The horse began to trot into place as it became restless. He offered her advice as she struggled to maintain her composure. "Ride hard, and don't look back. The sun will give you cover. Don't stop until you're in safe distance."

"You can't stay here!"

"I very well can. I've been subject to his torture for a long time, and now, it's become habit. I won't let you fall prey to him again. Now go, Evangeline, please."

She wanted to protest further, to get off of the horse and cling to him. She wanted to tell him he was mad, but as the sun began to rise fully over the mountainside, the servant struck the backside of the mare and without thought, it began to gallop out of the stables. Evangeline looked over her shoulder and watched as his figure shrunk into the distance. The gloom of the castle became illuminated by its dropoff, and the sight of the jagged cliffside gave her fear. The sun was warm on her face and as it shone through her dark hair, she could feel a tear form as the mare took her down the winding path of the mountainside.


End file.
